


re:pair

by steebadore



Series: TCB (taking care of bucky) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, and boy does he get one, gratuitous softness, grilled cheese & chill, high emotional threadcount, rated T for tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steebadore/pseuds/steebadore
Summary: It's a two-way street, pal.





	re:pair

**Author's Note:**

> Tags courtesy of galwednesday and preserum on twitter. Thanks as always to anoneknewmoose for looking this over. 
> 
> This is best read as it was written: wrapped in a soft blanket, a giant mug of tea at hand, and leon bridges' [river](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=7ug41DBUJOw) on repeat.

Steve creeps through the front door as quietly as possible, removes his boots and practically tip toes into the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator a millimeter at a time so none of Bucky's twelve mason jars of various salad dressing experiments will rattle, grabs one of his premixed protein shakes from the bottom shelf and is just inching the fridge door closed when he hears shuffling footsteps. 

Damn it.

"Steve?" Bucky leans against the kitchen doorway looking sleep-rumpled and soft, adorable even when he's glaring. He's wearing one of Steve's old shirts, some triple-XL monstrosity from a charity 5K a few years ago. It's stretched out enough that it's slipping off Bucky's shoulder just a little, exposing the scarred curve of his collarbone. The metal gleams dully in the yellow light from the streetlamp outside the kitchen window, and Steve's heart turns over in his chest with a clumsy thud. 

"Hey," he rasps, swallowing hard to keep the emotion welling up behind his ribs from spilling over onto his face. "Hey, baby. Sorry, I was trying not to wake you."

Bucky pushes off the doorjamb, shuffling closer until his face is pressed into Steve's neck, exhaling like he's been holding his breath for days. "You think I didn't hear you the second you stepped into the building? You ain't that subtle, pal," he grumbles, but it's half-hearted. "Nat texted me. You okay?"

Steve shudders at the warm, solid weight of Bucky against him and presses his mouth to the top of his head to hold back the sound that's suddenly building in his chest—something ragged and guttural; an expulsion of the horrors he's ingested over the last few days. 

_The kids_ —he doesn't say.  
_The building, it_ — he swallows back.

"I'm fine, Buck," he says, winding his arms around him and ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, grateful that Bucky's face is mashed into his carotid so he can't see his wince. More grateful still that he had the foresight to shower off the blood and ash and antiseptic at the Tower, so hopefully he won't even notice—

Bucky's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing on Steve's shoulder. Fuck, the bandage probably crinkled. "You're hurt." It's a flat statement, not a question. "Let me see." He pushes Steve into one of the dining chairs, pulling the back of his shirt up and over his head in one swift movement that somehow barely moves his bad shoulder at all. 

"Just a graze, honey," Steve says wearily, letting his head fall against Bucky's stomach as Bucky's fingers gently pry the bandage loose to get a good look at the wound beneath. He's so warm, and he smells good—like their shower, like their bed. Like everything worth coming home to. "'s already healing. I'm fine."

"Yeah," Bucky says with a shaky sigh, and smooths the bandage down. He wraps one arm around Steve's bruised, bare shoulders and cradles his head with the other, running his thumb in soothing circles over the short hairs above his ear. It makes a rasping sound that fills up the inside of Steve's head, driving out all the rest. "Yeah, you're fine, Stevie."

They stay like that for a long, quiet moment, until Steve's stomach emits a sound like an angry badger and a garbage disposal at war, reminding them both he's been in active combat for more than fifty-six hours, and hasn't stopped for longer than it took to shove a protein bar and a bottle of water into his face in almost eighteen. 

Bucky pulls away with a frown. "Okay, food and bed, pal."

Steve holds up the protein shake still dangling from his fingers. "Yeah, let me just down this real quick, I'll met you in there in a second."

Bucky gives him a pitying look. "Yeah, no. We can do better than that. Sit tight, let's get something warm and a bit more substantial than that into you before you pass out."

Steve watches him walk to the fridge and pull out packets of meat and cheese and a couple tupperware containers, feeling like he's looking up from underwater. Time has gone slow and fuzzy at the edges, or maybe that's just him. He smiles, propping his chin against his hand, watching the way Bucky moves to the stove with graceful purpose. He's still broad and thick, but the last year without training has rounded off some of his edges. Sometimes Steve can't resist grabbing at him, squeezing a little, just to see his fingers sink in. Just to feel the strength coiled under all that soft skin.

He's shuffling up behind Bucky before he's even conscious of his brain making the decision, pressing his fingers into the padding over Bucky's hips and kissing his neck. "You're so pretty, baby. I ever tell you that?"

"Only every time you see me," Bucky says with a grin in his voice, wiggling a little in Steve's hold. "Go sit down, honey. You gotta be dead on your feet. Food'll be ready in a second."

Steve rubs his face against Bucky's shoulder. "Too far away."

Bucky snorts. "The chair or me?"

"Both."

"Then come sit up here," he says, tapping the counter next to him with a metal finger. "I can't make your sandwiches with all four hundred pounds of you draped over me."

Steve hoists himself onto the counter, pleased to note his shoulder is already feeling better. Bucky stands between his legs, leaning over his thigh to stir a pot of something just starting to steam, and turning the burner on under another pan. Steve steals a piece of ham from the pile, nearly moaning at the salty-sweetness of it on his tongue. It's a long way from a protein bar, and suddenly not nearly enough. He shoves another couple pieces in his mouth, and he must really look like shit because Bucky doesn't even slap his hand for it. He just smiles as he continues to pile meat and cheese on slices of thick sourdough, and slides a knob of butter into the hot pan. 

Steve lays his head back against the cabinet and watches Bucky work, the efficient way he slides the sandwiches into the sizzling butter, the way he trades spatula for spoon to stir the soup on the back burner. The kitchen is full of warm scents and warm Bucky, and he's full of the kind of contentment that only someone very hungry watching his food being prepared by someone other than himself can be. 

Bucky pours the red soup into a bowl and hands it over before deftly flipping the sandwiches in the pan, the tops of them gone all shiny brown and crusty. Steve's mouth waters as he spoons up a bit of the soup. It's smoky with just a hint of sweet, with a surprising kick of heat in the back of his throat. It warms him right through to his bones. 

"This is so good, Buck," he says. "These from your garden?"

Bucky nods, smiling as he slides the sandwiches out of the pan and replaces them with another batch. "First few tomatoes and peppers, yeah. Rest of them still need a few days." He hands one half of a sandwich over. "Try it with this." 

Steve dips the sandwich in his soup, and Bucky leans forward to kiss his abraded knuckles. His mouth is soft, just a quick press of lips, but the sweetness of it makes something painful flare behind his ribs, tender as a bruise. He stuffs the sandwich in his mouth before he can do something stupid like start crying. 

"Holy fuck," he says with his mouth full. The cheese and butter and ham are a salty contrast to the delicate spice of the soup, fatty and rich. He grabs the other half of the sandwich and dips it, holding it out for Bucky. "Here."

Bucky leans in, his hands on Steve's thighs, and takes a small bite. "Thanks, baby." Steve stops him with a hand to the back of his head when Bucky starts to pull away, leaning down to press his mouth to Bucky's, kiss him soft, kiss him sweet, and then deeper when he can't help but want to swallow him whole. Bucky's mouth is hot and open against his, and his hair is a cool weight spilling through Steve's fingers, and their kitchen is small and warm, and there's food on the stove and Steve suddenly can't breathe. It's so much. It's everything he's ever wanted, all at once. He pulls away, pressing a shaking thumb to Bucky's full bottom lip, watching it spread out into a smile. 

Bucky glances down at Steve's lap and snorts. "Why am I surprised," he mutters, turning back to the pan and flipping the last of the sandwiches. 

Steve exhales, grateful for the distraction. "When am I not hard for you?" he says, smirking. "Besides, it's not my fault. It's the serum."

"Oh, sure," Bucky says. "The _serum_. Like you haven't been a little horny jackrabbit since you were thirteen years old, Steven. All the serum did was turn you into a giant horny jackrabbit."

"A horny jackrabbit with a giant dick, maybe," Steve says, just to see Bucky's face go red. 

Bucky waves his hand dismissively. "Your dick was always bigger'n it had any right to be. Serum just kept it proportional." 

"Yeah well, you're welcome," Steve says, stuffing an entire sandwich in his mouth. 

"Romance is dead," Bucky says with a sigh. He puts the pans in the sink and rinses them while Steve finishes the rest of his food in a decent facsimile of a civilized person. The sharp edges of his hunger have been eased with the warm, hearty food, and he's feeling pleasantly lax again. 

"You get enough?" Bucky asks, drying his hands on a dishtowel and then folding it over the oven door handle so it can dry. "Alright, let's go to bed, then," he says when Steve nods, and shoves his hands under Steve's thighs, hoisting him up off the counter. Steve squawks and grabs his shoulders, hanging on while Bucky maneuvers them through the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom, flipping off lights as he goes. 

Steve forgets sometimes, how strong Bucky is. Strong as him. Stronger, maybe. Strong enough for this, in any case. The easy show of strength makes something in his belly flutter, makes his muscles loosen and warm in Bucky's hold. He laughs breathlessly when Bucky releases him onto the bed so he bounces a little on the mattress. Bucky climbs over him, kissing him deep and long and that feeling wells up in Steve again: overwhelming fullness; a love so keen it cleaves him right in two. 

He presses his face into Bucky's neck, breathing hard, hands gripping Bucky's back so hard he knows he's leaving bruises. "Buck," he rasps. "Bucky."

Bucky smoothes a hand down his side, shushing him. "I know, honey. I know."

"I am so glad I get to come home to you," Steve says, his voice a harsh whisper pressed into Bucky's skin.

Bucky metal hand twists in his hair, a startling sharpness that drags Steve back into himself. "You remember that," he hisses. "You remember you got something to come home to now."

"I do," Steve starts but the hand in his hair yanks his head back.

"No," Bucky says, looming over him in the dark. "Next time you want to rush into a collapsing building _by yourself_ , you think about this. You think about me, waiting for you to come home. You think about what would happen to me if you weren't around to take care of me anymore. And you weigh that against whatever reckless shit your idiot brain is telling you to do. You hear me?" He shakes the hand in Steve's hair, hard. 

"Okay," Steve breathes. "Okay."

"Promise me," Bucky snarls.

"I promise," Steve rasps, his throat swollen around an emotion he can't name. Guilt or gratitude, he can't tell. "I promise you, honey."

"Okay," Bucky breathes, dipping down to kiss him hard enough to bruise. "Okay. I'm gonna suck your dick now."

Steve's laugh chokes off into a gasp when Bucky moves down his body and takes him into the sweet heat of his mouth. It's over fast, Steve too exhausted to hold himself back for long. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says when Bucky crawls back up his body, kissing him slow and sweet. Steve fumbles with the waistband of Bucky's pajamas, whining into his mouth when Bucky pushes his hands away. "Let me get you now."

"It's fine," Bucky says, rolling away so he can pull the covers over them both, and fitting himself into the curve of Steve's body. "You're gonna wake up in about four hours and rail me until my back teeth come loose anyway."

"Uh. What?"

"You do it every time," Bucky says with a yawn. " And you never remember it the next morning. It's cute."

" _Cute_?" Steve splutters, leaning up on an elbow. "Fucking you in my sleep is cute?"

Bucky shrugs, tugging him back down. "I don't think you're really asleep, if that makes you feel better. More like a fugue state? You run your mouth the whole time, it's great."

Steve is almost afraid to ask. "What do I say?"

Bucky hums, snuggling his ass into Steve's hips and pulling Steve's arm over him. "Last time you talked about how I took your dick so good, you wanted to put me in one of those baby carrier things so you could walk around with your dick in me all day."

"Oh god," Steve says, laughing into Bucky's neck. 

Bucky pinches his arm a moment later. "I can actually hear you trying to figure out how you can make that work. Go to sleep, Rogers."

"I can't help it if I have good ideas, Buck," Steve says, his eyes falling closed. "You know they call me a tactical genius?"

"In some circles they also call you a fucking idiot," Bucky mutters. 

"Yeah but in this circle," Steve says, flexing his arms around Bucky, "they call me daddy. So a baby carrier just makes good sense, if you think about it." 

"You are the biggest fucking nerd, I swear to god," Bucky says, muffling his laugh in Steve's bicep. "If you don't shut the fuck up and go to sleep right now, you're gonna be humping the bed instead of me in a few hours."

"Fine, we'll discuss logistics later," Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky's neck. "Night, baby. Thanks for—thanks for taking care of me so good."

"'s what we do," Bucky says, his voice slow and sleepy. "This is a two-way street, pal."

"Yeah, Buck." Steve presses his face to his shoulder and closes his eyes, letting the solid weight of Bucky and his warm, even breaths gusting over his arm lull him to sleep. It's good, this life they've carved out for themselves. He's gonna keep it.


End file.
